


ANSWER

by mangojuices



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Action I guess, M/M, OR IS HE, Prince Seonghwa, Vampire San, Vampire Wooyoung, Vampire Yeosang, healer mingi, honestly i have no idea, idk either, idk what this is, its kinda sad, kind of based on the answer mv, kinda not sad, pirate hongjoong, soldier jongho, vampire Hongjoong, yunho is a human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:59:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22930612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangojuices/pseuds/mangojuices
Summary: When Treasure finds itself lost, maybe, just maybe, Hongjoong can find it.Kim Hongjoong, pirate turned Vampire, sails the seas in search of eternal adventure and, well, treasure. So when his dear friend Choi San, an eccentric Vampire of incredibly high status, mentioned he's found the casket of the White Prince, Hongjoong tasked himself to retrieve the body. Least to say, he didn't expect this journey to be this long.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Choi San, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung & Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Seongjoong - Relationship, Woosang - Relationship, Yungi - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

_Yeosang’s breath grows short, finding it harder to draw in air as it just wheezes through the holes that riddles his chest open. Blood, sweet sanguine bleeds his shirt red, warm on his paling skin, almost burning it hot as it cascades in waterfalls off his chest, pooling underneath him. It’s utterly beautiful, how the liquid runs down the dirty alleyway, careening its course to his head, a halo of ichor flowing and glowing through warm blond hair. Waves of blood crash against his arms, heavy above his head where it was held by the masked murderer, stuck there because Yeosang is too weak to move a finger. Yeosang’s vision blurs, no tears in his cold brown eyes, the moon mixing with the stars which muddles into the darkness of the sky and soon, his eyelids slid shut, heavy like a casket lid. Without sight, Yeosang can only hear the scream of Seonghwa, gravid with blood-curdling horror and devastation, dripping wet with absolute anguish, cut off with a gunshot. He chokes, blood pools into his mouth and spills from the burning entry and exit wounds in his throat, and it makes Yeosang nauseous when he hears how Seonghwa’s body hits the ground. His flesh splashing alley rain water, how when his chest pressed with gravity forced an exhale of a last wet breath. It was, is, awful, how Seonghwa’s own blood races to Yeosang’s feet, hugging his shoes and soaked into his pants. By the time the onslaught of his best friend’s blood reaches his face, Yeosang had gone cold, starting to stiffen, though a beat still played in his heart quietly. The gang of white masked murderers, splattered with a spray of blood, places their mark on the wall, a simple crudely spray painted telescope in white, a warning for those who try to defeat them. And as soon as Yeosang and Seonghwa began to lose their life, the gang was gone. Though, they were unaware of the person in the back whose eyes glow silver, shimmering underneath the twilight of the moon. When one man’s trash had been thrown, it’s open property for another to make treasure._

_When Yeosang wakes, he’s more dead than alive. The small drum of his heart had stilled, no longer a beat, no longer a march. His breath needs not to be taken, rather his lungs decayed and not need oxygen. His fingers and toes moved but are cold, no warmth letting in. Yet, his eyesight is sharp enough to catch the leaf that falls from the tree outside the third floor window, hear it softly float to the ground and bend the grass the slightest. Yeosang can smell the exchange of dew from the blade to the leaf. He cards a hand across his chest clothed in silk, feeling how his chest only had scars of bullets, no longer holes that bleed, but the simple touch brought the heaviest memory. Somehow, by the luck of the heaven’s above and hell below, he found a thread of strength to feel the presence of a new body next to his. Though this body brought no warmth, brought no breath or comfort, only an uneasy safeness that forced his eyes open. He saw those eyes, the dazzling light of the sun reflecting off of lulling waves in the ocean, how the man’s face brings a smile that chilled the warmth of Seonghwa’s blood on his legs. He leans down, lips near Yeosang’s ear before he begins in a whisper, an odd invitation resting on his sharpening teeth._

People want it

_Want what?_

People dream about it

_What is it?_

It can be different to every individual

It can complete us

Or it can destroy us

And it can change the world

_What?_

People call it 'treasure'

_Treasure?_

The sound of wind blowing from the horizon

The warmth of the sun hitting the ocean waves

The vibration of sand beating like the hearts of youth

We're at the starting point of this long journey

_How long is it?_

The freezing winds may make us shiver

The heat of the sun may make us thirsty

The vibrations of the sand may swallow us

But we'll never stop

_Are you sure?_

Gold, eternal life, honor, love, fame

It doesn't matter what you dream for

So let me ask you

What is your treasure

_Yeosang’s slow breath hitched in his throat, desperate pupils flickering to the body at the mouth of the alley, breath choking when Seonghwa’s peaceful face juxtaposed with the mess of what was left of his throat._

Will you join us?

_Yes._

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“This is why we fucking can’t have nice things!” 

Hongjoong chooses to ignore the shrill of Mingi’s low voice brimming with annoyance, the disgruntled sigh that follows pulling a gleeful chuckle from whom Hongjoong assumes to be Wooyoung. “Hey hey hey, wait, hold on, okay, wait, Mingi, I’m sorry!” The plea is cheerful, a loud laugh shaking the boat that Hongjoong passively steers erupting from the young, feet pitter pattering against the wood as he runs away from Mingi. While Mingi has the advantage of beautifully long legs, Wooyoung is an agile creature, easily switching directions that made it hard for the taller to adapt to. It’s an enjoyable sight, two of his life-long friends playing around, chasing from port side to starboard, the root of the chase long forgotten. Wooyoung had oh so  _ accidentally _ dropped a clear glass bottle of an abandoned ship replica of one of the most infamous ships that had ever sailed. Now, the replica vessel sails in a sea of glass shards, stiff leather sails catching the slight wind that picks it up. Ever so gracefully, Hongjoong leans on the upper deck railing, smile never fading as he watches the little boat tumble farther and farther from port, across the deck and towards the edge, teetering between  _ staying on board  _ and  _ walking the plank _ . “You’re such an asshole.” Mingi spits without venom, trapped underneath Wooyoung who straddles him with a bright smile. His small hands pins Mingi’s wrists above the taller’s bright red hair, and while Mingi could easily throw Wooyoung off of him, he didn’t mind the cheery pressure of the younger. “I’d suggest taking a yonder left.” The smooth voice of their captain slices through the picking winds, and the two oblige quickly. “Other left, Mingi.” Hongjoong instructs with a flight of giggles. Mingi’s head turns faster than he can blush in embarrassment, but the disappointment heavy in his voice is faster than the color that shows on his cheeks when he witnesses the little boat sail off into the Pacific. “No!” Wooyoung and Mingi crawl to the edge, peering over to see the boat make a splash into the ocean, resurfacing and bobbing up and down, bullied by harsh waves. Mingi is dressed with a frown, making Wooyoung’s dead chest pang with a feeling of guilt, his own lips wilting. “I’m sorry…” Wooyoung whispers, sitting back on his knees, eyes avoiding Mingi’s. The redhead sighs, though his breath is less disappointment, more feigned hurt. “Cut you a deal?” Mingi starts, Wooyoung’s eyes looking up through his eyelashes in an expectant gaze. “Once we dock, build a ship with me.” Mingi says confidently, cheeks puffed in excitement. Wooyoung’s guilt dissipates, replaced by warmth. “Build a ship? That takes years, asshole.” Mingi chuckles lowly, “A replica! Build a replica with me.” Hongjoong finds it endearing, how Wooyoung always is so warm and bright despite being dead, though that didn’t stop him from befriending humans with little quirks, like Mingi. Mingi himself had been saved by Wooyoung so many years ago, but the brutal encounter of that night is a story saved for later, rather the tale of Mingi’s quirks, which included finding joy in building replica ships is much more easily digested (especially when Wooyoung finds the activity tasking). “Just one ship, please!” Mingi begs, holding onto Wooyoung’s hands, gripping his fingers a little too tight to show how desperately he wanted Wooyoung to partake in the joys of tiny ship building. “One! Only one ship.” Wooyoung relents, melting at how Mingi squeals in delight. “Only one ship, swear on my Yeezy’s.” Wooyoung throws his head back, bright and loud shrill of a laughter coaxing another soft chuckle from Hongjoong from above. He leaves them be, tuning out their conversation when he nears the cabins, within one lays a coffin. 

When Hongjoong had first taken the cargo, he found it incredibly humorous. A vampire in the newest decade, hauling what was stereotyped to be his bed? It made his belly hurt. But, it’s much more precious than it should be, the ornate resting place protecting a prince that had been magically stitched back alive. Bought by the eccentric Choi San, Hongjoong had taken the job as a personal favor for his friend, sailing through oceans and bargaining to pick up the white coffin. If he could admit, Hongjoong truly finds the royalty handsome. He seems to only be asleep, though his chest never rose, his eyes never fluttered open, not a twitch present in his fingers; Merlin's sake, the Prince looks like perfect plastic. Curious as ever, Hongjoong had begged for a background of the, presumably, older, and San had relented when Hongjoong offered booze. 

“He was a prince.” 

San slurred. “That I know.” Hongjoong sneers sarcastically. San chuckles, bringing the bottle of laced blood to his slick lips and taking a sip before continuing his story. “He was a prince that was arranged to marry another prince from a different kingdom.” “Drama.” Hongjoong predicts and San nods solemnly. “He refused, something about not wanting to marry an asshole, even insulted the family and all that shit. It was horrible.” San reverts back to the memory, him barely eighteen when he witnessed the ordeal from behind a column. 

Prince Seonghwa was similar to his age, maybe older by a year, but the difference between the two was greater than the oceans. He was elegant, devilishly handsome and kind, but ruthless when it comes to those unjust. Choi San, on the other hand, was a boy born into poverty, family working for and in the kingdom, though he was and still is incredibly kind and sympathetic. 

It was only two days after the rejection when workers began to die. 

It started with the gardener, then the elderly butler, and thirdly San himself. He remembers the moments of his death, stabbed ruthlessly and hung on the castle wall, horrifically advertising the power of the opposing castle and the offense they had taken. It was the Prince’s servant boy that found San, the towels in his hands dropping and drinking San’s blood thirstily. He had been taken by the coroner, somehow barely alive when his body was cleaned in the office. 

His family came and wept, servants came and wept, the King and Queen came and wept, the servant boy came and wept, the Prince, Park Seonghwa, had came and wept. Noble as ever, he promised to find and kill the murderer, and though San was still alive, he had felt like he had died. When they all left, mourning at their presumed loss, the coroner revealed his true colors, and bit San, turning him from barely alive to a creature of the night. It was a month of the coroner helping San in his new life, a month of castle murders, a month before the servant boy and Prince Seonghwa were kidnapped and murdered. 

San witnessed how the white masked woman straddled the servant boy, pinning his arms from above before sinking bullets into his chest. Watched how Seonghwa, forced on his knees and to watch his best friend be murdered, lose his life after another masked murderer shot a bullet through his throat. San made a split second decision to turn them, bending down to the servant boy who was closest to him and taking the time to take whatever blood was left in him and giving the boy his own. When San was finished, the servant boy was comatose, deathly pale skin beginning to shine like the moon above. San turned to the Prince, making a move towards him when he suddenly heard the returning pitter-patter of padded feet. San returned to the shadows to hide himself, watching closely as the white masked murderers returned with a new member. This newcomer was taller, bigger than the rest, dressed in white like the others, but his mask was elegantly wrapped with dazzling jewels—San could only assume it was their master. With a low hummed whisper, the Master chanted a spell above Seonghwa’s body, his limp frame beginning to float in the air. 

San can admit, even centuries later, the memory was, is, beautiful.  How Seonghwa’s wounds began to stitch itself together, melting the ghastly hole into caramel skin. How, while weightless, Seonghwa seemed to look alive with the magic coursing around him, as if he was drowning in water. 

The master guided the Prince’s body out of the alleyway and down the sidewalk, evidently stealing the, once was, corpse. San cursed under his breath, stepping out of the shadows to collect the servant boy and taking him back to the coroner’s office. Since then, the coroner had let San be himself, setting him off against the world and time itself, checking back once in a while through exchanged letters. Yeosang, the servant boy, followed San, just the two of them against everyone else. Throughout time, the two had gained a name, and after several years, the boys born into servitude owned a luxurious manor, helping Vampires in need. 

While philanthropy was the duo’s main focus, San never forgot the Prince’s promise, that he would find the San’s murderers and serve them the same fate they gave to San, and it incredibly hurt San at the memory of the bullet ripping Seonghwa’s throat. 

Irony is a cruel joke that San could indulge in.

Reciprocating the feeling, San sought out for Seonghwa’s preserved body for centuries, and when he heard rumors of the coffin belonging to the White Prince, San dished out more money he had ever spent. Yeosang was none the wiser, oblivious to the surprise. San had planned to get Seonghwa himself, looking to find or even build a suitable ship to bring Seonghwa back, but Hongjoong, his greatest friend, refused. 

“It’s dangerous out there, San. If you do say that this Prince is stuck in Wonderland, you can’t just go get him, that’s oceans away, full of dangerous waves and monsters, you can’t handle that.” San would take offense, but he knew he wasn’t ready, equipped, or skilled enough to retrieve the Prince, not like Hongjoong. “You see this, San?” Hongjoong points at the ever-lasting bruise on his skin connecting his neck to his shoulder, letting his pillowy white shirt fall from his shoulder for the other to see. “You saved me, even when you knew what I was.” San remembers the pain of drinking Hongjoong’s blood, one of the fated few that Vampires just couldn’t drink from (Their blood is too pure, too clean for vampires. Vampires couldn't feast from the Golden Few unless they risked the possibility of long-lasting pain.) “You risked your own being to save me that night, and you didn’t leave my side.” Hongjoong looked back to his gleeful small crew, “Didn’t let me leave their side.” He smiles, pulling his shirt back up to cover the mark. “I am forever endowed to you. I would risk my life for you, for anything you stand for, your people and friends. The same way I am sure you would risk yours for mine and my crew. I will get this body for you.” San sighs, of relief or what, he doesn’t know. “You sit your pretty ass in your manor and help those in need, and while you’re at it, find me more worthy crew mates. Those two are getting annoying.” Hongjoong and San could hear the faint and muffles, “Hey!” of Wooyoung from below the deck in the hold, playfully offended at what Hongjoong had said. Hesitantly, San agreed, slipping a few gold coins into the pockets of Hongjoong’s coat when he wasn’t looking. When docked, San let himself off and smiled at Hongjoong, a hand waving at the ship and its captain. Appreciation couldn't define the happiness that flooded San's smile as he watched the great ship sail onwards, the dimming silhouette of its captain standing tall still fresh in his mind. Once the ship disappeared far enough, San couldn't help but feel the anxiety of the fragile situation at hand; finally, the White Prince is coming back where he belongs. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

It took a year. 

Twelve months of jumping from one island to another, battling both creatures and people to find Wonderland, one year of sending short letters of futile attempts at locating the White Prince. Faith began to run cold, but Hongjoong struck luck when he came across a wounded soldier. “I have a Healer on board, but what information do you hold that can find me useful?” Hongjoong flirts, a grin across his tan face. The soldier bleeds heavily, coloring green blades red. “You.. You’re a Pirate.” Hongjoong’s eyes fleet across the sky, too calm for the situation at hand with a battle raging just a few miles ahead. “So they rumor.” The soldier gives a weak chuckle, “You’re a Vampirate.” Hongjoong crosses his arms, “Specification will find you correct.” The soldier winces, “Aurora.” The name alone spreads warmth in Hongjoong’s still chest, flooding his decayed veins. “X marks the spot, doesn’t it?” The soldier meets Hongjoong’s eyes, locking into place a silent deal. “Heal me and I will guide you to the White Prince.” The name brings a frown, quite the opposite from what the soldier had expected. “How did you know?” It’s almost a whisper sounding of threat, but rather comes with tired utterance; maybe, just _maybe_ , this year long search will come to an end. “My name is Choi Jongho, of the Park Castle.” It only takes a moment before Hongjoong calls for Mingi, the tall red-haired human blood donor turned crew mate who learned how to heal in record time of two years, to come over. Mingi responds immediately, a gentle smile on his young face when he sees Jongho, “A mortal wound! This is easy, Cap. Give me thirty minutes and he’ll be healed in no time.” Mingi busies his hands to remove the metal plate across Jongho’s wide chest, to which the same time Hongjoong pulls himself from the situation at hand. He writes to San as soon as he gets to his campsite, entering his tent without even closing behind him. 

_“This is the beginning of the end, my friend. In due time, I shall return to you the White Prince.”_

It indeed ends fruitfully.

Jongho guided the crew around the war (to which the Park Castle seems to fall; _so much for the beginning of the end_ ) and into the quickly emptying castle. They dodge many servants and guards, the authority that Jongho wears as a badge being more useful than Hongjoong would like to admit.

(“Why don’t we break in and slaughter our way through. No witness left behind is less mess.” Jongho brings a hand to his worn face, “I can get you in and out faster than the sharpest blade piercing a heart.” Hongjoong cocks a brow, “How so?” “I am the Principle Soldier. They have to listen to me.” Hongjoong counts his defeat but never admits it.)

When they reached the basement, it was more designed as a shrine, dressed in sheets of white and red, a trail of candles to light the darkness. In the middle of the room is the coffin, purely white, hoisted by magic, suspended in air (Hongjoong couldn't help but revert to the memory that San had told him, how the masked murders who took the Prince's life lifted his body from the alleyway with magic. How he floated in air beautifully, as if in water.) Hongjoong stands at the far end by the staircase leading to the underground, but from his position he can see the White Prince.

 _Finally_ , he meets the famous.

“I have searched for him for a year.” Hongjoong informs Jongho, daring to take a step. The pirate dramatically bows, arms spread wide with one leg tucked, body bending low to greet the (not so) dead corpse, “It is my pleasure to be acquainted with the White Prince, Park Seonghwa.” The response is silent. Hongjoong peers into the coffin and for the first time in centuries, he feels warmth bite his fingers. His toes wiggle in the heat that surges his skin, scorches it hot and sunburnt.

Park Seonghwa is _breathtaking_.

There’s no evidence of bullets, truly the work of a skilled healer; where once was a hole only is caramel tan, smooth as if it never happened; as if the stories were fables, delusions of rumors the castle stirred in retaliation. Hongjoong brings his hand to close the lid of the casket, but Jongho speaks before he can turn white impure. “Wait, I have a favor.” Hongjoong growls, “After we’ve saved you?” Jongho breathes a sigh of fear, hands wringing nervously. “Bring me and my friend to your ship.” Hongjoong barks a laugh. “You? And a friend? What good can you bring?” Jongho’s hand wraps around the sword at his hip, “I can fight!” “So can I.” Hongjoong counters quickly, but not quick enough. “Vampirate or not, you only have two hands.” Hongjoong frowns, _it is a fair point_. “Besides, the castle is done for. Everyone has been fighting this castle for years to get their hands on the Prince, and with the King dead and the Queen kidnapped?” Jongho’s shoulders sag, “What else do I fight for when everyone has fled? The least I can do is protect the Prince, and I know he will be safe in your hands.” Jongho licks his lips, momentarily resting his gaze at the casket. “I never knew him. Of course, I didn’t, no one in this castle did, he’s centuries old. But when I was lonely, I would wander down here against orders and speak to him. Ask questions with no answers, spill secrets and tell the stories that line the castle history since he was… killed?” The soldier swallows, eyes return to Hongjoong, a glint of hurt in his noble eyes. “How about this friend you spoke of?” Hongjoong asks, smirk building as he thinks he caught Jongho off his feet.

“He’s dead.”

If the air was warm, it suddenly turned cold. “Then why…” “Why did I ask to bring him on board if he’s dead?” Jongho finishes for Hongjoong. “I lied.” Hongjoong’s eyebrows are quick to stitch in confusion, “If you intend to string me on a journey of lies, I have no interest to bring you on board.” It’s a cold warning fitting for the air of the room. “I’ve met Seonghwa in my dreams.” Hongjoong is at a loss for words, _exactly what is this story about?_ “Yunho was struck with a fever a week before he died. It wasn’t serious yet, but it was of concern to the medicine man. He was green everywhere and couldn’t stomach even the most pristine water. By the third day, the medicine man called the end of his life to be the end of that week. I was…” Jongho’s voice drops, eyes taking a hazy look as if he’s brought back to that time. “I was lost.” Jongho looks at Hongjoong, looking for a sign of interest to continue. He finds it in the way Hongjoong’s stitched eyebrows twitch with worry, invested in the tragedy of a stranger he knows only by name. “I found myself by Seonghwa’s coffin every night, begging for a change in Yunho’s condition. Just for him to get better, just for him to _stomach water_. It’s unfair that Yunho would be stripped of his soul when he hadn’t lived it outside this castle. It was absurd! And I hated whatever gave him the illness— I still do. It was the end of the week when I heard his last breath, if you want to call gasping for air breathing.” Jongho smiles, though it’s bitter. “I was so angry at Seonghwa. How could this divine prince, saved by magic, not help someone deserving of life?" Jongho swallows, his hands wandering to the wound he had sustained just hours ago, no longer bleeding but it still stung.

"Then that night, he came to my dreams."

Hongjoong shifted his weight from one leg to another, arms wrapping in a cross on his chest. "He uttered a few words, whispers and echoes, but I heard them. ' _A day will come that a Vampirate will visit, and you must let my body be taken by him.'_ Then I began to wake up.” Jongho shakes his head as if to bring the memory to surface. “But before I opened my eyes, he told me one word, one name. _Aurora_ ." Jongho looks at Hongjoong in the eyes, noble no longer in the warmth of brown but solid desperation, utter sadness swimming in the tears that lines his eyelashes. " _Imagine_ the glee in my stomach when I saw your ship burst with the colors of the aurora borealis, the _name itself_ written in the wood." The soldier brings his fists to aggressively wipe the tears from his cheeks, scraping the skin red. "Yunho’s been dead for _a month_ , but he hasn’t rotten! Seonghwa.. _Somehow_ he preserved him! His flesh not rots, his eyes are still wet with the tears he cried that night in pain! I can, I can nurse him back if you bring us on board!” Jongho begs, teeth gritting against each other as he drops his status of a soldier in front of the Vampirate. “If only you let me board with Yunho, I will let you take the prince.” Jongho’s voice vibrates, but the intent is strong.

Hongjoong smirks,“You are such a fool.” His voice condescends, digging a grave beneath Jongho’s boots. “To ask a corpse of a favor, essentially begging to bring the fated dead back to living; a fool you must be to ask.” Hongjoong laughs full bellied, hands and everything. “A fool I must be, but my heart is loyal.” Hongjoong scoffs, “Loyal?” Jongho closes his stinging eyes, a memory playing behind the lids as if a movie.

“I promised Yunho I would protect him as if _he_ were the Prince, not Seonghwa. I _promised_ that he would see the ocean, no matter how sick he was.”

Hongjoong blinks, scoffing lightly through his nose. “Loyalty.. It serves fruitless when the receiver is dead, I suppose.” He sighs, silence riddling the distance between him and the soldier. “Well,” Hongjoong turns around and closes the casket, looking over his shoulder at the soldier. “Use your strength and carry this with me, would you? I suppose we’d have to take the Prince to my campsite then return for this Yunho.” Jongho bites his lip, “How do I know you’re truthful that we’ll return for Yunho?” Hongjoong smiles, genuinely this time.

"I'd break my bones and riddle myself crippled underneath the pure sun so this Yunho fellow can see the ocean."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh goodness, i didn't really proofread so if anything looks off, I am sorry!


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the two had carried the casket out of the castle, the war had either ceased or moved. 

The lawn is littered with dead or dying bodies, blood fertilizing grass in some sick way, making dirt into mud that squelches loudly underneath Hongjoong’s sun dried boots. Jongho winces when he comes face to face with people he knew, soldiers he shared drinks with, servants he joked with, civilians he protected — all their faces stuck in horror, cementing their expressions when they took their last breaths. 

“It isn’t easy seeing the people you love dead.” Hongjoong’s voice is muffled from the wood, nonetheless, Jongho’s ears ring loud with the statement. 

“I wouldn’t necessarily say I loved them.” Jongho guarded his feelings well, just as good as he guarded the castle walls before everything fell to shit. 

“Then deeply care. Either way, it hurts.” There’s sincerity in the way Hongjoong speaks, as if he lived through it all; and Jongho wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Silence drowns the two, Jongho left in his thoughts as he avoids the rippling sounds of dying air. 

“Say, who is this Yunho fellow, again?” Jongho gives a silent sigh of gratitude for the pirate, thoughts ripped from the grim and onto lesser dark themes. “He’s my friend.” There’s a scoff, though it’s playful. “Soldier? Servant?” Jongho shakes his head, the top of his wet hair barely visible to Hongjoong from behind. “Neither. He’s a distant cousin to Seonghwa.” Silence finds them once more, white noise of boots crunching the only sound ringing for miles ahead. 

“Did you love him?” 

Hongjoong asks as if he knew the answer. Jongho swallows, “Love him? Of course, as much as a brother could.” 

More footsteps. 

“Your voice wavered as much as the tumultuous sea.” Hongjoong states. Jongho licks his lips, avoiding to acknowledge how his heart sped in beat. 

“You loved him more than a brother  _ should _ .” 

Jongho wouldn’t lie to himself that a simple statement as such hurt him, as if Hongjoong could read Jongho like an open book, letting the pirate read and flip the pages willingly. “Wh-What’s the Prince to you?” Jongho stirs the conversation in hopes to move the topic along. Hongjoong obliges and hums, “A favor.” “Favor?” Hongjoong nods affirmatively, white hair almost blending with the casket, “A very handsome favor.” Jongho’s lips frown, “He has to be more than just a favor.” Hongjoong shrugs, the casket tilting up then down. “A friend to some, maybe a lover to another, but to me? A favor.” It’s a finalizing statement, riddling the two back into the quietness of the wilderness, only their footsteps making any noise as they head towards the campsite. 

-

“Are you sure this isn’t a replica?”

Wooyoung peers into the casket, hands gripping the wood tightly with only his eyes peeking through, wide in wonder, almost dazzling as he traces the features of the Prince. Mingi is beside him in a similar fashion, no fear in his tall self as he lightly pokes the Prince’s soft cheek, gasping each time the skin gives.  “Mhm, sure of it. He’s even warm.” Hongjoong responds, back turned to the duo as he looks through a stack of maps he had collected.  He thumbs through the stack, some incredibly old that it looks to be a thin slice of dust with nearly invisible ink, edges frayed and weathered by droplets of sea water dried by the sun. He hums to himself, a bright closed-mouth smile breaking out on his face each time Wooyoung whispers in awe to Mingi who agrees to whatever the other says. 

Jongho sits on a chair by the tent opening (“Just call it a door!” Mingi argues, long arms crossed at Wooyoung who grips the fabric in his hands. “It’s a flap, Mingi.”), picking at his pants patiently, waiting for Hongjoong to finally give the cue to leave. 

“Aha!”

Jongho’s head snaps up faster than he’d ever moved before only to face private disappointment when Hongjoong settles the maps back down on his desk, pulling one from the stack to look at. “I’m going to update this.” Hongjoong announces. He intends for it to reach no one’s ears but Jongho stands, “What about Yunho?” The pirate hums and nods, placing the map beside the stack. “Right! Yunho. Then I will update this after we get him.” There’s a gasp coming from neither Jongho or Hongjoong, rather a synchronized dramatic act from Wooyoung and Mingi. “You’re special!” Wooyoung points at Jongho, earning a stern look from his captain making him drop his arm. “Yeah, Cap’ never puts off map updating for anyone.” Mingi follows, theatrics at play at how his fingers cover his lips, jaw dropped at such news. 

Hongjoong waves them off, “Because when you fools interrupt my map updates, it’s usually matters that’s stupid in nature.” The captain turns to Jongho, “On the other hand, this is very important business!” Mingi rolled his eyes, “Questions about ship details for my replicas are, and may I stress, not stupid.” “I’d like to differ.” Wooyoung sasses, reciprocating a tired sigh that Hongjoong had always given the tallest when he had questions if he had gotten details of a ship right. “I am never going to give blood to you ever again.” Wooyoung flips like a switch, lip jutting out as his eyebrows dip, hands gripping the billowing white sleeve of the redhead, “I didn’t mean it!” “You never mean it!” “But this time I swear!” 

Hongjoong gives a loud cough to interrupt the argument, waving his arms to grab their attention. “Okay okay! You two can argue some time later in the day! For now, you must help Jongho and I.” This catches Mingi’s attention, eyebrows flying behind his red bangs, “Help?” “I know it is a foreign concept for you two. You know, being of help.” Jongho chokes back a laugh behind his hand which doesn’t go unnoticed by Wooyoung who gives a feigned pointed glare at the soldier. “But this young lad and I must return to the concept to retrieve another body!” There’s a collective of silent questions shared between Wooyoung and Mingi, only communicated through the way their eyebrows scrunch in different directions and how their eyes widen or squint in answer. 

Hongjoong smiles, “It is Jongho’s friend. Think of him as a new crewmate. Wasn’t it getting boring for only you two anyways?” Mingi nods solemnly just as Wooyoung shakes his head, blond hair chaotically flying side to side. Jongho finally lets out a bark of a laugh, a genuine smile giving a brighter tint on his tan skin. 

“Well then, we should leave. Dusk will be upon us soon and I’d prefer if we retrieve the body before the sun completely sets.” 

“Yunho.”

Jongho’s voice is raw with emotion. “Hm?” Hongjoong turns to look at his guest, eyebrows set high as if to ask to repeat himself. “His name is Yunho. Not “the body”, Yunho.” Hongjoong grins, pearly teeth shining. “Ah, right, forgive me, yeah?” Jongho nods, not trusting himself to vocally respond. It’s as if the moment Hongjoong mentioned Yunho, everything in him had bled out (there’s a flashback of the dead bodies on the castle lawn), like a sponge too full of water. Just the mention of his name makes Jongho want to cry, that choking feeling in his throat bubbling and burning in his nose, yet no tears ever surface-- he had already cried all the tears he reserved for Yunho when he had initially “died”, but if Jongho had reached far enough, he knows he could sob another sea for his… _friend_. 

“We leave soon! You know, by the time we return to that cursed place, it’ll already be haunted by ghosts; that’s how cursed it is!” Hongjoong playfully warns his crewmates, his nose scrunching as he smiles. 

There’s no door to open when the crew of four finally reach the ruins, a gaping hole inviting them inside. 

“Follow me.” Jongho leads through the ruins, with some rooms looking untouched and others wrecked beyond recognition. They pass through halls, the three sea men awed at the decorations that lined the walls, fancy decors standing rich throughout each floorplan that they pass through. “Here!” Jongho points at a door to what seems like a cellar. “I’ll… He’s.. He’s in here..” The soldier opens the door, the room dark and cool even from where Hongjoong and the other two stand from a small distance away. Jongho disappears inside wordlessly, his sigh the only indication that he’s inside. 

“Yunho… I brought people that can help you, help us.” 

There’s that voice again— _raw_ emotion. No matter what Jongho says, it seems as if all he’s truly saying is said in the way his voice minutely wavers, the tremble beaten in between each letter, how each breath and sigh as he speaks holds more than what he actually says. It makes Hongjoong revert back to his own days before being turned, even before being a pirate, when he was just a normal boy in a normal family in a normal neighborhood within a normal city. Of course that is before, well, that’s a story to be read in a different time. 

Jongho emerges from the dark with a long body in his arms. He’s pale, from dying or being in a dark cellar, who knows, but just like the Prince, he still seems to be alive, just sleeping. Hongjoong spies how Jongho holds his tears, head hanging as he stands with Yunho in his arms in front of the three. He chokes on a tear and clears his throat. “This is Jeong Yunho. He’s my…” He fades to think. “Best friend.” Hongjoong hears the drop in tone, the insecurity in each word. “Before he passed, he was staying at our castle because his own was being remodeled. He’s also Seonghwa’s distant cousin.” A shaky breath inhale and a single circular tear lands on the shirt of the unconscious newcomer. “He’s also warm.” 

Pink barely breaks blue when the ship sails from the land that now holds more dead than living, eerily silent in sound and visual as the wind gently blows the craft further and further away. 

Hongjoong stands on the deck, hands shoved into his coat, the beginning of a burn on his skin as the sun rapidly rises. He looks out towards the line where the sun meets the sea, watching how speckles of black float across a painting, each bird having a distinct call that Hongjoong tuned out, simply enjoying the sight of the ocean. It’s times like these that Hongjoong can feel peace. Living as a vampire isn’t ideal when you’re a pirate exposed to the elements, especially the sun. There are days when the burns are severe, but for the most part, Hongjoong along with Wooyoung are able to ignore the pain. They mostly work during the night, keeping up with files and maps, directing the sails and such, making sure the food supply for Mingi is full as he is the only human on board. 

“Hyung…?”

Croaks a voice and peace is interrupted. Hongjoong turns and sees Jongho rubbing his eyes, stretching wide with a yawn. “Already? I didn’t think you’d be this comfortable around me so soon.” The younger shrugs, the clothes Hongjoong lent a little tight around his fit chest. “It seemed natural.” Hongjoong nods and turns back around, gaze set again on the horizon. The floorboards creak underneath the weight of Jongho’s bare feet, his direction pointed at the captain. “Aren’t you a vampire?” Hongjoong nods, “I am.” Jongho purses his lips. “The sun?” Hongjoong chuckles with warmth, “I am used to it. It’s been at least a few, maybe several, hundreds of years of being under the mercy of that orange mass. So is Wooyoung.” Jongho nods and rocks on his feet. 

“Can I confess something?” Hongjoong wordlessly nods, gaze still settled at the ocean far beyond. 

“I… I’m severely thankful that you let me… us, on board. It’s been a desperate few months, even before Yunho died.” Jongho sighs deeply. “When the King was murdered, it threw the castle into chaos. The Queen was put into position after each man in position got killed, then she was kidnapped, so everything went to… shit. Then they attacked bit by bit and next thing you know, well, everyone died. Amidst all that, Yunho died. My only support, the only person I could rely on, he also gets metaphorically murdered. Along with that, watching the castle burn and die while I couldn’t do anything because I had been strictly ordered to protect Seonghwa— it piles and piles and it eventually spills. _Explodes_. I-I know it’s been less than 48 hours, but I sincerely thank you for, well, saving us? Helping us.” Jongho swallows, anxiety taking its fill as silence swells. 

“I admire that you are loyal to your friend.” 

“Hm?”

“You made a promise, and when the opportunity rose, you took chance. To fulfill your duties and your promises. I admire that.” Hongjoong turns to the younger with a smile that glows like the sun over the horizon. “I am glad I have met you. I cannot wait to see your own abilities, whether you stay here aboard the Aurora or venture off into distance lands, frolicking among daisies and tulips, and to keep with the theme, _bloom_ into something I can be even more proud of.” He gives a fatherly smile, “And to think it’s been less than two days. Honestly, I would call you my son. But then again, it has just been two days, hm?” Jongho’s gaze drops to the floorboard just as Hongjoong pats his shoulder. 

“I think I will retire to my cabin. The sun is starting to annoy my oh-so-beautiful, absolutely pale and flaw free skin.” Hongjoong sarcastically pats his cheek, and if Jongho squints, he can see the faint traces of various red lines across the pirate’s face. “I will check up on you and your friend in a few hours.” Jongho watches as the captain walks towards a plain door, opening it and disappearing behind it. If Jongho strains his neck, he could see the glimpse of a white box. 

  
There’s a big chair within the cabin that Hongjoong had put the Prince in that he uses as a makeshift bed, his legs slung over one arm and the other digging into his back. He sighs to himself in the dimly lit room, eyes glazing over the Prince in his casket, taking notice of how the pressed white suit still is immaculately crisp, moving up and down in a gentle breath. His skin still glows in a pallid way, yet there’s a hidden tan beneath the paleness, as if buried underneath, settled and comfortable in its place. Hongjoong traces his features, the roundness of his baby pink lips that mirrors the slender slope of his cheeks, complementing the high hill and the low valley landmarks on his face; how his eyes are a beautiful deep brown, blown wide in curiosity and wonder.

_ Eyes. _

“S-Seonghwa..?” Hongjoong whispers, terrified at the fact that the Prince is _awake_. The Prince doesn’t move, simply blinking at the ceiling, as if he didn’t hear Hongjoong at all. The captain stalks to the casket, sweaty hands gripping the rim as he takes a closer look at the Prince. 

“Seonghwa?” There’s more confidence in his voice, as he hides his fear very well after years of careful practice. 

The Prince slowly shifts his gaze onto the captain, nothing in those eyes. There’s a gravid silence, just the two staring at each other, eyes wide though with different intent. It takes a while, but the Prince finally parts his lips, a low grumble in his throat until there’s breakage, voice croaking with horror, “ _Hongjoong…?_ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! i was both unmotivated and busy! i also do apologize for any errors in the chapter! :-)


	5. Chapter 5

_It’s an odd juxtaposition_ — _the ethereal peaceful look on his face, serene and calm as if he wasn’t profusely bleeding through his newly transformed throat, as if he was merely sleeping through chaos._

_There’s magic coursing his veins, and while the rumors had always claimed that being filled by magic hurt, Seonghwa never had imagined it was this painful. His body burns pure fire through his veins, scorching each part of his body as it runs through, pillaging and ripping him from inside. Seonghwa couldn’t even move a finger, let alone scream, only living in his mind as his body is hoisted from the cold alleyway ground, limbs pulled by gravity, head hanging showcasing his gnarly wound, his own blood washing over his face like the masks his murderers wear. He could hear the muffled thuds of the gang’s feet running along the bricked pavement, gait set within a steady rhythm and pace that never let up until they reached their destination. “Take him to the basement and wash him. There should be a suit to dress him for the show.” Comes a gruff voice behind cloth, deep in tone with cold words, but the smirk that weaved itself into the sentence was clear. There’s no words of exchange, only the sudden feeling of loss and relief, the magic disappearing and giving him room to breathe, until it comes back cold. It’s just as painful but different in feeling. The magic that struts his arteries is cold, chills running through his system as his hairs rise to warm him. It feels as if icicles begin to droop from the walls of his organs, growing and growing till it pokes his skin and bursts through, seeking to tear him apart. Silence overtakes the air, to which Seonghwa could only assume that they’re moving again as each step this new person descends, Seonghwa can feel his body jerk up and down, rattling those icicles to shatter against his bones._

_It doesn’t take long to finally reach the basement, the faint croak of a door opening alerting Seonghwa as to where he is. The person whistles a jovial tune, gently setting Seonghwa’s body onto a metal gurney. The metal intensifies the cold within Seonghwa’s body, feeling as if he was being preserved by ice alone._

_The magic disappears and Seonghwa can breathe again._

_I_ _t’s a theme that he finds to be repetitively painful, because as the pain subsides and warmth lets it, the warm begins to burn as magic works on his throat. The magic works slowly, forcing cells to grow rapidly over one another as if like brick layers patching the road one brick at a time. It feels as if a century had lapsed when his skin had halfway grew, caramel melting to crash together, thunderous waves weaving to become one sea. All during that time, Seonghwa could only scream in his mind, his body not even flinching at how painful this is. “I get better each day.” Comments the person above him, fingers prodding at the new skin, caramel tinged with sore red, checking to see if it would break under his give. It doesn’t, springing back into place with liveliness. “Now let’s dress you! Forgive me for intruding on your privacy like this, but I do believe you would look mighty well in this suit than these… drabs. Sheesh, where did you even buy these? You have me fooled for a prince but you dress like a servant!”_

_(“You…” “It’s a present!” Yeosang argues, shoving the box into Seonghwa’s clean hands with a flush on his cheeks, quickly turning on his heels to leave. “You don’t want to see the look on my face when I open it?” Seonghwa asks cheekily, fingers already working to remove the lid. Yeosang halts but doesn’t turn around. “I don’t! It’s embarrassing.” “Embarrassing? What did you buy? Is it controversial?” The lid reveals a brown jacket of sorts, some patchy work here and there, as if made by a novice. But the strings are placed with care, Seonghwa sees that, how each patch woven is stitched with adoration and love. “Yeosang…” “It’s mediocre at best, but I learned from the nanny.” Yeosang refuses to turn around, rocking back and forth on his feet as he uses his hearing to try to figure Seonghwa’s feelings. There’s silence between the two, soft shuffling disturbing the peace as Seonghwa slips it on. It fits perfectly. His feet barely make sounds as he stands and crosses to Yeosang, wrapping his arms around his small shoulders and pressing his chest against his back. “Thank you.” Yeosang could choke if his throat wasn’t dry. “O-Of c-course!” His voice breaks, making Seonghwa chuckle lowly against Yeosang’s ear. “I appreciate it, I really do. You know how I never received presents except from you. I will cherish it till the day I die.” Yeosang scoffs, forcing the blush on his thin cheeks to luster less, “Don’t make jokes of death. It’s controversial.” Seonghwa smiles.)_

_He indeed did cherish it till he died. But all that cherishing, the pure adoration he had for such a simple gift, gone so quickly when he hears threads rip. “Trash! Let’s dress you with this instead!” Seonghwa can hear the fabric of his favorite jacket hit the floor, ripped and, for the lack of better words and feelings, disrespected. “What?” The person asks, slight disgust in his tone. There’s no response but they scoff, “Why are you mad? Oh… Is it the jacket? You have me fooled to be stoic, Seonghwa. I did not write you to be a person with feelings, considering that you oh-so-mercilessly threw that prince away a few months ago. Nonetheless, you’ve surprised me! Don’t worry, I’ll place the garbage that is that jacket somewhere in your coffin.” The rest they spend together is in silence, Seonghwa stripped of his clothes and changed for a new suit, though he had no idea what it looked like. From what he could hear and feel, it’s decorated in medals as the clinking of metal occasionally made its way to his ears. Seonghwa is tired. He wants to desperately sleep, to rest and just give up for a moment, but alas, he didn’t want to miss anything just in case something would be said to his benefit. It didn’t take long until Seonghwa could feel the person’s arms scoop him into their hold, his weight weighing them down to shuffle towards his presumed coffin. He can feel the soft pillows give to his oncoming heft, the beginning of a centuries old mold. “I’ll place your sweater under your head, like a little pillow!” The person says too gleefully, slipping the fabric underneath Seonghwa’s deadweight head and letting it drop back down. The person brushes their hands over their pants, the slight sound of fabric shifting filling the silence._

_“Are you done?” A new voice comes, this time light and female, her tone more tired than Seonghwa is feeling. “Yes, ma’am. He’s ready to be shipped.” If Seonghwa could frown at the way he was objectified, he would, but alas, he lays still. “Master ordered me to spell him.” “Really?” There’s no following noise, but Seonghwa assumes she had nodded. There's sound of feet on floor, soft thuds of an oncoming person. Suddenly, magic floods his blood, surging and pushing along his veins, rushing to the point that it felt as if Seonghwa was alive again, heart beginning to beat. “It should expire if he is ever to step out of that damn island and alert the Master.” Seonghwa stores that information deep in his mind. “If so,” He can feel the smirk, “It’s another game of hide and seek.”_

—O—

Once the door to Hongjoong’s cabin is closed, Jongho basks in the rising sun with his eyes closed. In all of his short life, he had never thought he’d be aboard a pirate’s ship, stowing away two undead bodies and leaving behind what was once the strongest castle in the nation. He remembers growing up in the castle, laughing along the halls with a wooden sword, careful not to knock an expensive vase over, instead trying to stab the visitors to their castle.

Jongho never meant to lie.

Jeong Yunho had never left his old castle, _in fact_ , he was the King and Queen’s son. _'An impulsive liar'_ , that’s what the maids used to call him. Sometimes he couldn’t help it, a soldier since he was young, he had to guard his feelings just as he would the castle. Considering how the kingdom would eventually fall in his lifetime, Jongho regrets lying to Hongjoong knowing that one day his lie of “ _he was staying at our castle because his own was being remodeled_ " would be unveiled— it’s a small lie, but it can break trust and Jongho, for the life of him, does not want to break Hongjoong’s trust. At least Yunho _is_ Seonghwa’s distant cousin. Jongho opens his eyes and releases a breath he didn’t know he had held. He gives a last look at the lull of the ocean’s wave, a small smile gracing his tan cheeks, then turns to retire to his cabin. 

Yunho occupies the bigger of the two beds, the scratchy blanket that warms him tucked underneath his body. Jongho takes a rag within a bucket of cold water and wrings it, bringing the cloth to Yunho’s forehead to wipe the thin sheet of sweat that covers his pale skin. Jongho hums to himself, letting the smile on his face spread wider as he admires Yunho’s features. He places the rag on the bedside table, returning to Yunho with adoration, a finger tracing his pronounced features. The pad of his finger tracks across Yunho’s cheekbones, letting the lines of the older’s landmarks guide his digit. Jongho uses his thumb to prod at Yunho’s pale lips, _it used to be so red_. 

_“You loved him more than a brother should.”_

Jongho scoffs at the memory, at how Hongjoong could read him so easily even though he’s known him for upwards, at that time, an hour.

He doesn’t know when he fell in love with Yunho. Maybe it was when he was six and Yunho was seven, and Jongho fell off a horse when the two had snuck to the stables when they shouldn’t have. Jongho had hit his head on the wooden walls, the neigh of the horse ringing in his ears, eyes blurring and making him see double the Yunho. The older had gasped loudly and immediately knelt down beside him, his little arms wrapping around Jongho’s head as if it was instinct (which it kind of was, Yunho didn’t know what to do and he knew that hugs always made him feel better). Maybe it was when Jongho was adorned with his status of soldier and Yunho threw him a little private party for two in his chambers, cheering him on with platters of grandeur fruits and foods. Or maybe it was when he stood in front of Prince Yunho, aged eighteen, the youngest Principal Soldier to have ever been in the history of the Park castle. Yunho had that look in his eyes, pure admiration and pride as he gifted Jongho the title in front of the entire court. It also could’ve been when Yunho opened up to Jongho of his past, how Yunho isn’t even the King and Queen’s biological son, rather the only child of a servant who had died in childbirth (“That’s why my last name is Jeong, and theirs’ is Park.” Yunho brings the bottle of alcohol to his lips and begins to drink, trying to drown the memory of his truth. Jongho snatches the bottle out of Yunho’s hand, liquid spilling over his shirt. “Stop that, will you?” Yunho hangs his head. “Stop what?” Jongho rests the bottle on his side furthest from the Prince, “Drinking. I don’t like it.” Silence riddles the two. “I’ll stop drinking for you, Jongho-ah, but first you have to stop lying.” Jongho’s chest constricts, ears turning red. “Just tell me, who is it? Who in the castle do you like?” Yunho’s liquor slick lips grins at Jongho’s way too obvious blush. “Fine! Poison yourself for all I care!” Jongho yells to avoid the gaze of the older. “Oh come on, you love me!” _That’s the problem, idiot._ Jongho wanted to say).

Jongho leans closer to Yunho to count the long dark lashes splayed on Yunho’s cheek, hoping to observe movement, a twitch or something to indicate that he was alive. Nothing. Of course it’s nothing. Jongho sighs, letting his gaze fall and for a moment, he feels the rising stinging feeling of tears behind his eyes. Jongho remembers whenever he was insecure of his authority as the Principal Soldier, Yunho would dismiss both their duties and they would retire to Yunho’s chambers and the older would pull him into his bed. Jongho would lay his head on Yunho’s chest, the Prince’s long arms closing around Jongho’s frame, which becomes smaller when in comparison to Yunho. It was the only thing that would calm Jongho, made him feel safe and sound. Jongho swears that there’s nothing else that can calm him. So, despite the lack of response, Jongho shuffles to lay his head on Yunho’s chest. There’s no familiar rise, no familiar beat behind skin, not even the warmth that Jongho had learned to love. He breaks into a sob muffled by the sheets and his hand, cloth drinking his tears and encouraging for the waterfall of Jongho’s pent up sadness. His fist curls around Yunho’s chest, shirt already wrinkled within his hand from the previous times he had cried upon his… friend. 

“Y-Yunho!” 

Comes a voice Jongho didn’t know. He jumps up, hand instinctively reaching for his sword that’s beside the bed. In a swift motion, he unsheaths the weapon, turned to the door that begins to open. The sword dents the wooden floor of the ship, clanking loud as it falls from Jongho’s hands. “Seong—” “Move.” Jongho doesn’t feel his feet move, as if an invisible force following the motion of Seonghwa’s hand pushes him aside, clearing the pathway to Yunho’s body that begins to become rigid. Jongho’s stomach tightens at the sight of Yunho’s metamorphosis, pale skin turning a sickly gray as it loses moisture, as if he was becoming a _corpse_. Seonghwa kneels on the bed and dips down, hands gripping Yunho’s sinking cheeks before planting a kiss on his forehead. Almost instantaneously, a warm tan begins to color Yunho’s skin, wrapping around each centimeter of his body, how after Seonghwa pulls back, Jongho can see the red that blossoms on Yunho’s lips. There’s no dramatic awakening, in fact, Yunho stays asleep, though breath is returned to his chest. “He shall wake soon, though his memories will revert to when he was last conscious. I do advice that you be gentle with him.” Seonghwa rasps, voice raw since it hadn’t been used for so long. Jongho’s slack jaw doesn’t want to move, overcome with so much feelings he couldn’t say anything, only watching the newly awakened Prince limp towards the door. Seonghwa stops at the door frame, leaning against it as if he had just waged an entire war. “Jongho, right? Principal Soldier of the Park Castle, my distant aunt and uncle.” Seonghwa looks over his shoulder, “Thank you. I chose the right person to help me, and I am forever endowed to you.” He smiles, lips spreading wide with the rays of the sun, brightening the dark cabin. Seonghwa proceeds out of the door and closes it just as Hongjoong catches up to him, barely there to catch the Prince as he falls from exhaustion. 

—O—

A finger slowly taps against the wooden arm of a chair, the dull sound echoing in the great room. There’s a big inhale, the exhale following with a tinkling laughter, growing louder and louder, as if a corrupt jester was given a gold coin. “Ready the boats.” Thunders the Master, face featureless as the cloth that covers his face adorned with silver jewels catches the light of the fire that decorates the walls of the room. A shadow of a grin outlines the white cloth, forked tongue sharp as he announces the awaited proverbial tip of the vase, marking the end of the beginning. 

_“The game has now begun.”_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize if anything is misspelled or something! pls leave comments, i like comments lmao... anyways, thank you for waiting! i'll try my best to update as fast and often as i can, but no promises as i am a college student lol thank you for reading!!


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